Saturday, April 15, 2017

What if you met an older version of yourself? What would that conversation look like?

==========

Appropriately dubbed ‘The Windy City’, movement seems
to never cease; whether it is the ever-shifting mass of people, or the brisk
windswept chill that seems to slow time itself.

It’s September. Fall has just begun its takeover. Trees are fading from
their sharp greens; to dull reds, and brilliant yellows. The sun casts it’s
golden orange beams across the glowing city earlier and earlier, as nightfall
embraces the ever-darkening skyline.

On an evening such like this, I walk into a small
pizza shop, that came highly recommended by a friend. An usher greets me
cheerfully, and leads me to a small booth. Accepting a proffered menu, I begin
my browsing.

“What is that?!” Two hands suddenly wrap my shoulders,
close to the neckline with a loud ‘WHACK!’
I turn slightly, to see a man, in his early 40’s – 43 is my guess. There is
something recognizable about him… the mannerisms, the smile, the painful way he
is massaging my tense shoulder muscles…

“Excuse me, I’m sorry… Do I know you sir?” I ask
sharply. This strange man has interrupted a very important choice of mine – I
am not willing to be nice.

“Maybe you do, maybe you don’t…”
he winks.

That wink! I know
that wink! That’s something I… wait… Dinner forgotten for the time being, and I
offer my hand. “Jerry.” “Ha! Me too!”
is the response.

Narrowing my eyes, I begin mentally sizing this man up. I notice a
small glimmer in his eyes - framed with smiling-lines - this guy is no stranger
to spreading cheer through them. Blond hair that had been retreating from his
forehead for a small while, seems to all gather at the back of his head,
forming a veritable haystack of a cowlick. He is wearing a brown and
cream-white checkered flannel shirt, and deep blue jeans. Beat-up and dusty
black tennis shoes tell many tails of outdoor adventures.

His massive hands
catch my eyes. ‘This guy could have been a very successful pianist’ I
think to myself. Black edges around the fingernails… is that... tire dust?
Fingers slightly bent, with the beginnings of, what looks like, arthritis. He
cracks his left thumb, three times. Each time the knuckle pops, less than the
time prior.

Then it clicks. (I
laugh at the pun my brain just made… because knuckle cracking sounds like a…
never-mind. Back to the now.)

Jerry has been
looking me in the eyes this entire time. Obvious sentiment has replaced the
cheerful glimmer in his eyes – almost sadness seems to be washing over him.

“May I… may I take a seat?”

I say ‘NO!’ in my head, but
my voice doesn’t obey.

“Sure. I guess so.”

Ah! Thanks! This place has the
best deep-dish in America. Trust me”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why should I trust you?”

Skepticism is an easy fallback for me. It isn’t possible for this man
sitting across from me, to be me. Yet, everything, down to the quad-blink (A
nervous tic). This isn’t real – But… but it is.

“Alright. Here’s the deal”

I snap out of my denial.

“Say wha?”

“Here’s the thing Jerry… Nah… I’m
gonna call you Jeremiah… Here’s the thing Jeremiah. I know what you’re
thinking. Ha! My – your face is an easy one to read.”

“YOUR face is an easy one to read!” I blurt subconsciously.

“That’s the idea, yeah. Your
face, my face. It’s the same face, separated by a few decades.”

I shake my head.

“Okay, for the sake of argument… Wait. No. This is literally
impossible. You can’t be me. I am
me…

“Observant” Jerry smiles.

I blink.

“Yeah. Anyways, just forget about
the impossibilities, because here I am. An older, wiser, more handsome… you.”

I blink again. I want so bad to give my best sarcastic answer. At the
same time, I really want to know this guy’s story… I’m torn. So, I decide to
stay quiet… for now.

“Okay, look. I remembered coming
to this place twenty-something years ago - by-the-way, the Sausage Deep Dish is
the best – ah, yeah, anyway… There’s some stuff I really need to tell you.
Like, important things… knew you’d be here.”

“Okay… fine. Whatcha got? What amazing things do I do?”

“I’m not going to tell you what
happens to me- you… I want that all to be experienced firsthand, without the
distraction of knowing it. Nah… That’s – that’s not why I’m here.”

“Well? Get to the point! Why exactly ARE you here?!”

“That. THAT is why I’m here.”

“What?”

“This impatience, the arrogance,
the annoyance… I suppose you could say I’m a warning. A yellow light: You’ve
gotta decide if you have to speed up, or slow down.

“I don’t understand… A warning?”

“Listen up. You need to learn a
little patience. Trust me.”

“You keep saying ‘trust me’… I really don’t.”

Jerry lets out a near-laugh, then locks eyes with mine.

“Jeremiah. Look.
You’re quickly moving down a path… a path you don’t want to travel on. I’ve
been there. THIS is where it led me. Your impatience causes you heartbreak. The
arrogance causes your friends heartbreak. The annoyance causes familial
heartbreak. All of this comes back around. You will TRY to be unaffected by all
that occurs… but all that happens is numbness. Boxing yourself in, you break
away from everything, and everyone, that cares for you. This box becomes your
home, Jeremiah. A home that is full of hurt, loneliness, and self-destruction.
I don’t want this to happen. I WANT to change who I… who you become. There is
still hope for you!”

I look intently on… expecting more. Jerry is looking down at the table.
I see a single tear stain, run down his left cheek. The energy that had been
emulating from this man earlier, is clearly drained. His shoulders sag a
little, and he appears much more… human. I feel for this man. The foresight
strikes me hard.

I drop my head in pondering.

“A yellow light… It’s my choice to speed up, or slow down. But whatever I choose, I have to own that -
take responsibility for it.”

I look up again. The menu is still in my hands. A young gentleman,
dressed in black and deep red is standing to my right, awaiting my order.

Shaking my head slightly, I notice something quite odd.

The once occupied chair across from me, is empty.

“Your order sir?” The impatient waiter queries.

“Hold your horses just a sec... Was there another man, sitting there?”

The waiter gives me a glance, then turns sharply to leave.

“Wait, hold on! I’m being serious… Was there an older man, early
forties, sitting across from me?”

“No sir. There was not. What’ll you have?”

Chicago darkens,
as the sun melts slowly behind the horizon. “There
is still hope for you!” hangs in the air – palpable, real. A sharp chill
pierces the warmest corners of The Windy City, as it begins its bedtime ritual.

Tuesday, March 14, 2017

We aren't superhumans. That's just scientific. We don't have radioactive spiders, or kryptonite.

Sadly, there aren't guys that can run at the speed of light, or gals that can move things with their minds... (As cool as that would be)

However...

There is something that exists that is just as neat.

Want to know what it is?

Take a guess!

Wrong! Try again. ;)

Give up?

This has been around for as long as human have been - which is technically true...

Because this phenomenon is known as humanity.

We are all a part of this. Every one of us.

We aren't superhumans. But we can choose to be outstanding. We are all gifted, one way or another. Some of us are incredible actors, others care deeply for the hurting, others have athletic prowess. Everyone has something (quite a few have more than one).

I'm sure you've been asked 'If you had powers, what would yo do with them?'

I imagine the answer came with some form of 'change the world' (If that's not what you said... Why not?)

You have skills. You have the potential to change the world. What are you waiting for?

Get out there, and be who God made you to be! Use your talents, gifts, time, and energy!

Don't settle to be normal. Be excellent. Be outstanding.

Make them miss you, when you're gone.

When it's all said and done, be the the one remembered for doing "The Father's work" (Luke 2:49)

Tuesday, February 28, 2017

These are some digital portraits I've done.
Maybe you've seen them, maybe you haven't...Either way... this post is an announcement.
If you like what you see, you can now get one of your own beautiful face!
If you ARE interested, email me at byfaithstudios@gmail.com
Make sure to include your name, and a photo.
Payment will be required upon completion of the image. I will not send it, until payment has been processed. (Preferably through facebook)
I charge $50 for each person in the image you want created.
Have any questions? Shoot me an email!

Sunday, February 19, 2017

Living in a desert makes it difficult to grow much of anything.
Unless its sagebrush, cactus, or the ever prominent tumbleweed, you'll be hard pressed to find anything long-term, where there is no consistent water source.

However, there was a place of solace one could find, if you lived here, in New Mexico.
Somehow, through the dry, scorched earth, a beautiful myriad of color would burst through the mass of dull green shrubbery, and dirty blue skies. In the middle of this desolate place, my mother had planted a garden.

This was no ordinary garden, mind you.
Sturdy walls embraced the outside edge; giving shade to those plants, frail to the noon-day sun, and much-needed respite from the harsh, never-ending force, that we call wind.
Reaching further upwards, horse-fence graced the walltop, protecting the contents therein from the predators and greedy paws of would-be intruders.
Carefully cultivated soil, dark, rich, sweet smelling groundcover, gave space and nutrients to the wandering root systems of the various vegetables and flowers.
This is merely the outside. A veritable fortress, against any rodent, looking for an easy snack.

Once you pass through the creaky gate, a new world takes shape.
This world was my mom's happy place.
It wasn't hard to see why.
Strong tomato plants, with dashes of red and yellow, stand proudly along the east wall.
Daring squash plants, hugging the ground, creep along the west side.
Small marigolds, dot the ground with splashes of yellow, and orange.
In the far corner, a watermelon seed had snuck in unnoticed... It had become a monster, over the spring. Looming behind the rows of peas and carrots.
Stepping through the entry, was like stepping through a portal, to another dimension.

This was my mom's garden.

It was...

Now, it's once majestic walls, have crumbled. The ground, once intense black, now grey, and parched. The plants are no more than a mere memory...

What happened to this place?
Where did it all go?

Mom knew how to add color to a dreary situation.
She always had the right words to say.
Like the garden, she protected us... not in a commanding way... but in a way that allowed us to enjoy every bit of God's creation.
She read the Bible, giving us a strong Biblical foundation, and spiritual nutrition.
Her heart was full of His love.
When you talked to her, you would be taken to a different place. Her words of wisdom were unmatched, and genuine.

My mom's garden was merely an outpouring of who she was when she was here.

But my mom is gone... as is her garden.

The memory lingers. The love stays strong.

Her legacy will continue, in each of our own gardens... which we will plant, nurture, and care for.
Maybe one day, our garden will be added to hers.

Thursday, February 16, 2017

I'm referencing, of course, the tongue - a vile demon - forged in the fire of hate, and malice. It desires to spark conflict, or deceit. It spreads out traps and manipulation, hoping to ensnare any and all who fall prey to the cunning wickedness that is an unbridled tongue.

How is it, that something so small, can have such an immense role in everything we do?

The capabilities of it, stretches far beyond the sinful nature of man.

It can also be an exceptionally powerful tool. A tool that builds up, reinforces, or encourages others.

The Bible says something to the effect of; "Can a spring bring forth both fresh, and saltwater?" (James 3:11)

Why does this happen? Are we all just fakers? Are we building our own towers out of other people's bricks?

We use the same mouth to both pray to God, and then curse our neighbors.

Wednesday, February 8, 2017

Some use a smile as a weapon. The deadly curve, with malice lurking just behind, evil intent, and wicked planned. This vile smirk laughs in the face of gratefulness and love, and strikes down the pure and hopeful grin.

While the wretched plot, and devise and scheme, there is another form that a smile can be.

It is used commonly as a mask. A mask to hide shame, bitterness, pain, and sorrow. Happiness is easy to fake, because people don't like to accept anything less. To them, happiness = success. Regardless of how broken they are, to wear that smile, hurts even worse.

Through tears and agony, these poor souls suffer... there is yet a third face on which a smile can rest.

A face of true joy! A grateful heart is a glad one. When the wearer knows the honesty behind the grin, there is peace, and hope. Love, and warmth.

While others try searching for it, and some try to fabricate it, only those that found it, know what it's like.